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--chosen-work--
All Saints 3pm
It is the start of Lent. A meagre sun
Has lured the coloured crocuses from sleep
The orange first on roundabouts are laid
Preferred by sparrows now in fallen sweep
We are all gathered; now with small-talk done
The cold stone echoes back our orison.
We sing with verve betraying secret thought
Which thanks the Lord that someone else was called
Not us who are not ready. Though appalled
At crippled wording of familiar psalms
The Lord is still my shepherd I'll not want
The slanting colours strike the useless font
And all around the gentle glinting brass
Are names which are remembered for a while
On far-flung days when dusty in the aisle
A few survivors probe the dark recess
Electric lights illuminate God's love
With chains ascending into Heaven above